


Quiddity

by lori (zakhad), zakhad



Series: Captain and Counselor, the revised versions [23]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-23 13:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19151866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/zakhad
Summary: The two stories, Love and ConseQuences and Quiddity, are combined here into one.Q has a habit of doing things in the least rational, most annoying way. It doesn't always make sense at first.TNG episodes Tapestry and All Good Things will be direct backstory for this. I am attempting to be canon compliant.quid·di·ty - noun - 1 : whatever makes something the type that it is : essence





	1. Chapter 1

_All the days we've been together_  
_All the days we've been apart_  
_Add up to a bunch of nothing_  
_If I'm not still in your heart_  
_I never want you to be_  
_Just a page in my history_  
_Someone I used to love_

_Your voice breathed in my ear_  
_Or on the telephone_  
_All the tender things we've whispered_  
_To keep from feeling alone_  
_May they never come to be_  
_Just cold gems set in memory_  
_Of someone I used to love_

_This current flows between us_  
_That will not be denied_  
_You draw me in towards you_  
_Like the moon pulls at the tide_  
_May no shadow ever fall_  
_That will make me have to call_  
_You someone I used to love_

~ Bruce Cockburn

 

 

Jean-Luc slammed the door and stood listening -- it was difficult to hear through the thick metal, but he thought the fire fight was still raging. He tapped his commbadge. "Picard to  _Enterprise_."

Nothing. Clearly they were too deep in the S'bottigo fortress to get a signal out. 

"I believe we should wait until the fighting is over," deLio said. "The ship will be attempting to reach us and Lana'hai will send security teams to find us when ze is unable to establish contact."

He turned and looked at the other three members of the away team. "I should have known it would go this way and made better contingency plans. Neither side in this negotiation really wanted peace."

Deanna backed against the wall without shelving and slid down to the floor to sit. Selar ran her tricorder for a moment. "There is no ventilation in this closet. I believe it is for storage of stable supplies -- these containers are full of foodstuffs and medical supplies."

"Given the long war-torn history I could see how they might have such nooks and crannies all over this fortress," Jean-Luc said.

Selar gave him the impassive look of the disapproving Vulcan. "We should avoid speaking until the door is opened and there is more oxygen. If we are here for more than three hours, we may lose consciousness."

Jean-Luc moved to sit next to Deanna as well, and Selar settled on the floor cross-legged. She closed her eyes and appeared to be meditating.

The time crawled along. The S'bottigo and their neighbors, the Trell, continued to shoot at each other with their disruptor-style weapons; the impacts on the wall were audible against the wall outside. The yellowish light from the tubes along the ceiling flickered when some of the louder concussions sounded.

Jean-Luc started to feel light-headed, and he felt Deanna's hand find his. He gripped her fingers and let his head rest against the wall. Another concussion actually shook the room, the lights swaying, and one of the containers on a shelf rattled against another.

He opened his eyes to a bright white room. No -- not a room. Just whiteness.  _Deja vu_ washed over him, as he stood looking around, and then a bright light flared.

"Oh, no," he exclaimed, shaking his head. "No."

"Oh,  _mon capitaine,_ it's so good to see you!"


	2. Chapter 2

Q mimed being offended, bringing his fingers to his chest. Again, he wore the white robes, pretending to be an angel or god. “So angry, Jean-Luc!”

Jean-Luc looked down — he still held Deanna’s hand. And it was a shock realizing that she was there, standing beside him. Both of them were still in uniform, and she was watching him with wide eyes, shocked as he was.

“I’ve been here before,” he told her. He knew she knew — he had told her, in session, all about the experience of having Q send him into his own past. It occurred to him that she might not be there at all, but looking in her eyes, he could tell that she was. Hajira always knew.

 _What should I do?_ she asked.

_As little as possible. You know it will play out until he’s done with us._

“I thought it would be fun to bring the little missus along,” Q announced with a big grin.

“You have a different idea of fun,” Jean-Luc commented. Deanna squeezed his fingers tightly, either in support or seeking it. Probably both.

“Yes, we will have _fun_ — what shall it be? Travel to the outer reaches of the universe? Your choice, Jean-Luc — consider it a wedding present! Even if you didn’t invite me.”

“If you’re being so accommodating, send us back to where we were, so we can get out of the closet and go on with our lives.” Jean-Luc waited, trying not to let his frustration show.

Q smirked — he was far too amused and enjoying himself too much. “How about something to help you get to know each other better?”

“I really don’t think — “

“Something from your past — something you’ve never told her. How about — “

“Q,” Jean-Luc interjected. “She already knows.”

“Oh, but I’m sure that isn’t true! There is telling, and there is experiencing — you never really know until you experience something! And you surely haven’t told her everything,” Q said enthusiastically.

“I don’t need to — “

“How about — the Academy,” Q cheered, waving a hand expansively as if to say ‘of course this is obvious’ and then suddenly, in a flash, he was wearing one of the old style uniforms of Jean-Luc’s early career, with piping and the high collared turtleneck.

“I don’t think so,” Jean-Luc said, starting to crack. At the thought of Deanna meeting his twenty-year-old self he couldn’t help but grimace. Deanna’s grip on his fingers intensified, probably indicating that she felt the same about her Academy years.

Q laughed, snapped with both hands. And Deanna was gone.

So was Q.

Jean-Luc recognized the location — the pavement in front of the statue of James Kirk, on the corner down the hill from the Academy proper. Before he could do much other than stand there in shock, someone bumped into him, almost knocking him off his feet.

“Hey,” a youthful, male voice sang out. A line of cadets in regulation workout clothes were rushing along. “Watch where you’re going!”

He watched the line of cadets running away. It was a gorgeous day, blue skies and wispy clouds overhead. He sighed, moved over to the bench on the other side of the statue, and sat down.

Q appeared next to him, also wearing the uniform of the time. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”

“I thought so.” Jean-Luc propped his elbows on the back of the bench, crossed his legs, and waited.

“What are you doing, Jean-Luc?”

“Waiting for this to end. Maybe there will be a reason I’m here?”

“Oh, there’s a reason,” Q said diffidently. “I think I see her.”

Jean-Luc followed where Q was looking, and saw a woman wobbling around the corner, down the street; she wore a short red dress and had no shoes on. Her hair was long and messy.

“You know I’m just trying to do you a favor, Jean-Luc. This is your perfect opportunity. You can be there for her.”

He turned to Q, pivoting slightly at the waist, concerned. “I don’t want to do anything here that could interfere with the future. So you may as well take me back to where I belong. I am certain you understand why I wouldn’t want to disrupt the timeline.” After what he had done before, taking him to revisit his past as an ensign, Q must be quite aware of the stakes.

“Ah, but before, we were exploring a choice. What if you have no choice? What if I brought you here because it's what has to happen, to preserve your present state?”

Jean-Luc almost shouted at him. Almost. It did no good to do so with Q. “Are you telling me that you are involving me in a predestination paradox? That this is all part of reality, and if I do nothing then….”

Q leaned closer. “Just. So.”

“Not with her, though. She wasn’t even born, when — what?”

“You were not here, when she was at the Academy, my dear Jean-Luc. She was not there when you were a cadet. But if you think about that time in your life, was there perhaps a dark-haired woman of your acquaintance, that you might even have looked for later and never found?”

“I am sure that there was no such — “ But he stopped, because he remembered. And it stole the power of speech from him for a few moments. That had been an old, faded memory, one he hadn't thought about in decades. That he might be a similar memory for Deanna was entirely possible, especially if Q had ensured that everyone did not see him as he really was. When he could, he said, “I can’t possibly be me, here. I can’t be Jean-Luc Picard for her in this place or time. What is it that you expect me to be?”

“Oh — I’m sure you could be anyone,” Q said, strangely serious all at once. He stood up and watched the woman stagger along. She wasn’t making much progress. “I’m not sure in her state that she’ll remember you in two hours.”

He was right — he could see her reeling. She leaned against one of the long row of trees along the sidewalk and looked miserable. When he turned his attention back to Q the entity had vanished.

Jean-Luc went to her, approaching slowly. She had her shoulder propped against the tree, and her dress was torn. The lack of awareness of him became more concerning the closer he came.

“Are you all right?” he asked, when he was within arm’s length.

Her head came up and her confused expression only led to more worry. Finally, he touched her shoulder. She looked terrible, her eye makeup streaked and her gross motor skills clearly impaired.

“Let me help you,” he said gently.

“There you are!”

He turned — a young man, mostly in uniform, had come around the corner from the direction she’d been staggering. The kid stopped, and then it occurred to Jean-Luc to wonder what he must look like, as Q had to have altered his appearance. The kid was thin, had a shock of black hair, and his uniform jacket was gone. The undershirt he wore was wrinkled and slightly twisted around his torso. He started walking again, upon seeing Jean-Luc.

“Hey,” the kid exclaimed, angry and apparently taking exception to another man butting in. It was that familiar, proprietary sort of defensive tone.

Jean-Luc felt just as defensive, but settled for glaring at the man and standing his ground.

Deanna, the younger, thinner and distressed version of her, seemed to rouse a little at the sound of the boy’s voice. She turned around and seemed to see Jean-Luc for the first time.

“Come on, honey,” the young man said as he reached her. When he touched her arm she flinched and yanked it away, almost overbalancing herself off the sidewalk in the process, catching hold of the tree to keep her feet.

“She doesn’t want to go with you,” Jean-Luc said sternly.

The kid glared at him. But Deanna shoved herself away from the tree, spun half a turn, and staggered at Jean-Luc. He caught her without a thought, put an arm around her, and held her up. She accepted his help, leaned on him, as he led her farther along in the direction she’d been headed. He assumed there was some destination. But, she reached the bench he’d been sitting on with Q and abruptly sat on it. She folded forward holding her stomach.

“Had a little too much to drink?”

“I don’t remember.” She sounded pathetic.

Jean-Luc glanced down the sidewalk. The kid was gone, and no one else was in the immediate vicinity. “What’s your name?”

Deanna’s face at this age was thinner, and the pain in her eyes when she sat up was enough to give him pause. “Deanna.”

He paused, trying to think of a _nom de plume_ that would work for him without giving her too much of a tipoff later, but she saved him the trouble by going on after a pause.

“Thanks for the rescue, John.”

“No problem,” he said, wondering now what relationship she had with his alias. She must have thought asking for her name had been a mental status check. Her assumption made him wonder if his alias had done it before. He sat down with her.

She moaned, then leaned over and put her arms around his ribs, resting her head on his shoulder. After a few seconds he put his arm around her in return. “Thank you,” she mumbled.

“Don’t you have… work to do, or something?” He didn’t have to fake the confusion.

“I don’t care.”

Of all the possible scenarios, this one didn’t seem too bad. He decided to be supportive and sat there, waiting until she wanted to do something else.

 

* * *

 

 

Deanna stumbled and fell, landing on her knees and hands. She stared at the dark brown dirt, then sat back on her knees, brushing her hands against each other, then stood up and looked around.

Her uniform was gone, replaced by a simple white dress — sleeveless and with small eyelets in the bodice, which was embroidered with flowers done in pale green and yellow thread. On her feet were simple flat-soled sandals.

“Dubious taste in clothing, for a Q,” she commented. But there was no response. She was alone in a country lane, apparently. There was a rough rock wall on one side of the lane, a tall black fence on the other, and no one for miles. She could sense lower life forms.

That startled her. It wasn’t like the time Q had put them in a Robin Hood scenario; that had been more like the holodeck. Most of the characters hadn't been real to her. She started to walk, not having anything else to do, and wondered what her part of the experience was supposed to be, as this was not Starfleet Academy. Far from it.

After a few minutes, she thought she was recognizing the landscape. The hills, the trees, and then she came upon a vineyard. Of course. This was LaBarre. Smiling, she continued. The Picard property would be coming up on the left.

But she stopped at the bottom of the side road to the house, and stared up at the tops of the trees, the flowers along either side of the lane, and hesitated. There were people ahead at the house. At least two, and no one she had met.

“You can’t just stand here.”

Deanna turned a disapproving stare on Q, now standing in the road behind her. He wore a ridiculous costume — pantaloons, some lacy sort of shirt with huge sleeves, his hair all in tiny curls.

“Well, you can,” he amended with a mercenary grin. “But it’ll only prolong your stay.”

“I don’t want to do anything if this is really — “

“Pre-des-tin-a-tion paradox,” Q said, enunciating and punctuating the word with little flirts of his fingers.

“So I’m expected to go along with your comedy act, to what end?” Deanna said cooly, crossing her arms.

Q shrugged, comically of course. “That’s for you to find out, and for me to enjoy watching you find out.”

He was lying. It was never quite the case that she could make out everything he felt, but she could tell when he stretched the truth. But, not knowing his motives was usual. She turned and walked up the lane toward the house, just to get away from him. As she predicted he didn’t follow.

The flowers were different than in the holodeck simulation — the roses were blooming everywhere, their perfume heavy in the air as she walked up the yard. The steps up to the porch were painted white, as was the porch itself. There was a wreath of flowers on the door. From above, probably from an open window on the second floor, came a woman’s voice singing in French.

She paused, right foot on the top step, and wished she understood more about Jean-Luc’s past.

The front door opened, as she took the next step up to the porch, and she stood face to face with a woman.

This was the woman from Jean-Luc's pictures, looking about the same age she must have been when Jean-Luc had been in his early twenties -- her pale blond hair already going to white, pinned up on the back of her head in an old-fashioned style. She wore a simple dress, floral print -- leaves and tiny pink flowers against a white background.

"Who are you, mademoiselle?" She smiled then, and Deanna saw hints of Jean-Luc's features in her face. "You must be one of Jean-Luc's friends, yes?”

"No, actually, he -- I -- “ Oh, that was a bad way to start. She couldn’t pretend to a lost tourist now.

"Oh, don't be shy, _petite_ , I know my son has his liaisons. But he has never brought one home before, so you must be special. Come in, dear, and do tell me your name.” Yvette held open the door, stepping to one side to show her in.

Deanna followed her mother-in-law into the hall, looking around at all the details that hadn’t changed since Jean-Luc had returned home following his experience with the Borg. Yvette led her through the dining room into the kitchen, where she was given a tall glass of water, after refusing anything more.

“Your name, mademoiselle,” her hostess said again, reaching to touch Deanna’s arm.

“Call me Deanna,” she said, giving in. It was a fairly common name on Earth.

"Deanna, what a lovely name," she said. "I have become interested in names, as of late, names and their meanings. Mine is Yvette, and I hope you feel you can call me that, instead of Madame -- I am madamed all day by the workers and the people in town, and Maurice's friends. We are two women standing in a kitchen on a fine spring day enjoying a lighthearted chat about everything and nothing, there is no need for such formality.” She waved her hands and turned to the stove, picking up a silver tea kettle and taking it to the sink.

"Names and their meanings?”

"Oh, yes. Yvette, for example -- like Yvonne, it is a feminine form of Yves, which means yew tree. Which I do not mind at all, being named for a tree. If we had had another son, I would have named him Yves. It is a good, solid name. Do you know what a yew tree is?”

"I've never seen one. Trees aren’t my specialty.” Deanna sipped the water and enjoyed the company of a happy woman — Yvette was probably reading too much into her presence.

"A yew tree is an evergreen. Never loses its leaves, and is strong, so strong, such that they are used in making cabinetry and bows for archery. Come and see my cabinet -- I have one made of yew.”

She led Deanna through to the large living room and showed her the familiar keepsake cabinet. "It's a beautiful cabinet, full of such beautiful things. What is the meaning of my name?" Deanna asked, peering through the glass at the heirlooms in the cabinet.

"Deanna is derived from Diana -- who was a goddess of the moon, did you know that?"

"I thought Diana was a goddess of the hunt.”

"Oh, she was that, too. Also the goddess of chastity. But don't look so amused -- chastity does not always mean virginal, you know. It can also mean fidelity -- a wife who is faithful to her husband is chaste." Yvette appraised her critically. "You have a very serene way about you, _petite_. Very much a lady. I must say, Jean-Luc has excellent taste. You could easily be a moon goddess, with your coloring -- eyes and hair like the night, and such beautiful skin.”

"Thank you, Yvette. That's very kind of you -- but I'm not really anything like a goddess, I. . . this is a beautiful swan," Deanna said, pointing at it. "I've always been partial to swans. They're lovely creatures.”

Yvette smiled and opened the cabinet. Picking out the swan with a practiced care, she held it up between them. "It also is like you -- dark eyes, with sadness in them. You are sad, too, petite. What is wrong?”

“Nothing I should talk about, really. It’s just — “ Deanna shook her head, letting her gaze drop to the swan.

Yvette's hand, long slender fingers and well-manicured nails, lay light on her arm. "My dear, you almost speak without words, with your eyes. Why are you afraid of me?”

"Because -- you're his mother, and I really didn't expect -- "

"Don't believe everything you hear about me, _chère_ , not for a moment. I'm only firm when I must be -- so difficult, these Picard men. Stubborn, thick-skulled, but once they're domesticated they make fine husbands, believe me." Yvette put the swan aside and gestured. "Come, let's sit and talk in front of the picture window.”

Deanna followed her, and Yvette glanced down at her feet. “Do you dance, _petite_?”

"Sometimes. I'm not that good.”

"You should have Jean-Luc take you dancing. Something to get him out of work -- _mon dieu_ , that boy of mine has such focus!" Yvette turned and held out her hand, and when Deanna took it bemused, led her into an impromptu dance around the room. "You see, you are very graceful!”

Caught off guard, Deanna laughed for joy. Yvette hummed a little, whirling them around, then began to sing in French. " _Au clair de la lune, Mon ami Pierrot, Prête-moi ta plume, Pour écrire un mot; Ma chandelle est morte, Je n'ai plus de feu; Ouvre-moi ta porte_. . . .”

Somewhere, a door banged, and Yvette turned and waited, as did Deanna. And there was Jean-Luc -- young, with wind-blown hair, dusty and dressed in rugged plain brown clothing, boots, and a riding crop in hand. He'd been out riding. He stopped in the door and stared at her.

Deanna’s stomach plummeted. Oh, this was so bad. She had thought certainly she could be granted the favor of his being at the Academy, or off in space, but here he was. In tight pants, no less. With hair! She smiled at his flyaway red hair, thinking about her own Jean-Luc — he had the same smile. But his eyes were wide, his eyebrows climbing, and clearly he had no idea about her.

Yvette sniffed at his reaction. "Oh, _beau petit_ , you would think you'd never seen her before. I'm going outside to pick some roses for the table tonight. You will be staying, won't you, _chère_?”

"No, I. . . have to get back," Deanna managed. "I'm sorry. But it was nice to meet you.”

Yvette brushed her hand down Deanna's arm and patted Jean-Luc's shoulder on her way out, leaving him puzzled and still staring at Deanna. Not unappreciatively, either.

"We haven't met," he said at last, sounding very much like the Jean-Luc she knew. "Have we?”

"I'm afraid your mother thinks so. I didn't mean to deceive her, but she was so swept up and she's so nice. . . you're Jean-Luc." As if her senses weren't telling her so. This was the raw material of which Captain Picard had been made -- he had told her of some of his youthful escapades, and this was the sort of man who could carry them off. She wondered briefly if this were a version of him from before his encounter on the Bonestell Facility.

He stepped closer, carefully, as if afraid she might run from him, holding the crop in front of him in both hands. "And you are?”

"Oh, I'm. . . Deanna.” His mother would talk, or she would have attempted a different name.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Deanna. And why aren't you staying for dinner, then? Since Maman seems to like you so much." A fond smile, for his maman. He ran his fingers through his hair, taming it somewhat, while his eyes appraised her.  
"It wouldn't be right. I should go, I've imposed too much -- “

He caught her arm gently as she tried to go past him, and the gesture stopped her but much too close to him for comfort. "I'd like to know how you came to be here in the first place. Our chateau isn't exactly where one would expect to find a Betazoid, let alone a beautiful one. I think, too, that I'd like to know a little more about you than your name.”

She shrugged uneasily and pulled free. His nearness was making it difficult to think. "What would you want to know?”

He opened his mouth, let it drift closed, smiled -- it was easy to see why his mother called him ' _beau petit_ ‘ in her correspondence. "Are you here for a purpose, or are you lost?”

"I always have a purpose. I know exactly where I am.”

"You are looking for someone, perhaps? My brother? But Robert wouldn't have met a Betazoid. Unless you are a tourist he met in the village?”

"I've never met your brother. Or any other member of your family, until your mother just now.”

He was enjoying the mystery of it, but his curiosity sharpened. "So you have a purpose, you aren't here to see another member of my family. . . are you here to see me then? And what magnificent thing have I done to deserve your attention?”

Deanna glanced down at the floor, put her hands behind her back, and couldn't stifle a sly grin. "You are the sort of man who attracts attention, simply by being yourself. You are in Starfleet?”

"Yes, I am. You?”

“Yes.” Because it was the most common reason Betazoids had to come to Earth — most didn’t leave Betazed. It took a very adventurous Betazoid to venture from home.

He touched her chin and she followed the brush of his finger, raising her eyes to his. The surprise from him told her too much of what she felt showed in those damned expressive eyes of hers.

"Who are you?" he asked, too softly, too wonderingly. "How do you know me? You do know me, don't you? Why don't I remember you?”

She looked in his eyes -- his mother's eyes, she realized now -- then smiled. “Maybe I’m just Betazoid.”

He laughed at her, gave his head a shake. “Come on. Maman likes you.”

“She thinks you brought me home because I’m special to you,” Deanna confessed. “I really shouldn’t stay.”

But he took her hand, led her along, and despite her misgivings he sat her at the table. She thought about it — she could ask for the bathroom and slip out the back door, perhaps. But as she was about to implement this plan, he looked up at his mother, as she placed the tea service on the table and took a seat at the head of the table.

“Deanna doesn’t actually know me, Maman.”

Yvette pursed her lips and gave him a look that Deanna had seen on Captain Picard so many times — appraisal, and confident amusement. “Well, no. But she is lovely, just the same. And she knows who you are, but you do not know her, which says you are paying attention to the _wrong girls_.”

He laughed with his Maman, clearly adored her, and Deanna smiled and sipped her cup of tea. Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult after all. Maybe she could stay close to Yvette, and continue to be a mystery to Jean-Luc until he departed. Surely he had to depart, if he was in Starfleet.


	3. Chapter 3

Jean-Luc walked the young Deanna slowly to her dorm room. He waited for more clues of who 'John' was, but she wasn't very talkative.

The dorm was empty, he noticed, as they went in a side door. Probably that meant everyone was in classes, which made him curious as to why she was not. 

"Thank you for walking me back," she said as they reached a door that she stopped at; she turned to look at him, and there they stood. After a few minutes, Deanna smiled wearily. "You really are my knight in shining armor, aren't you?"

"Um. Sure."

"As lovely as that is... I need some sleep. See you later." She touched his cheek, kissed it, and went in the room, the door shutting behind her. 

He wandered down the hall, vaguely remembering the dorms, and found one of the common rooms. He sat on one of the couches and rubbed his face, wondering. There would be a replicator somewhere around, the dorms usually had small mess halls. He could get something to eat while he waited for the rest of this to play out. He half-expected Q to show up to gloat, but perhaps something truly embarrassing needed to happen before he made another appearance.

"Cadet," a stern voice called out into the large room.

He didn't even look -- his eyes were tired, and he was thinking about the situation -- he hoped that Q's idea of learning more about Deanna was not watching her self-destruct. She had mentioned having one semester during which she struggled miserably, due to the deep depression of having Will Riker choose his career over her.

" _Cadet_!"

The sheer volume of it, right in front of him, propelled him upward. "Sir."

The officer in front of him was a younger Admiral Ross. Jean-Luc knew that sometimes starship captains spent time at the Academy teaching, particularly if their vessel was in for a refit. He had spoken at the graduation and done a few guest lectures himself, when the current  _Enterprise_ had been in dry dock on the way to launch. Ross must be there to do something similar.

But he looked angry, and not at all like the admiral he would be in later years. "I'm disappointed in you," he exclaimed.

"Sir -- "

" _Stow_ the excuses," Ross shouted. "I put my neck on the line on your mother's behalf -- and here you are sleeping, instead of paying attention in class."

"I -- I'm sorry," Jean-Luc stammered. "I was just -- "

"Just sleeping," Ross growled.

"Sir," came Deanna's voice. Both of them turned to see she had come down the hall in a bathrobe. She looked horrible, bleary-eyed and pale. "He brought me back to the dorm. I wasn't feeling well and I could hardly walk. I'm about to take a shower and change before going to the Medical Center."

Ross was stunned. He nodded stiffly, upon realizing that Deanna was leaning heavily against a wall and waiting for dismissal. "As you were, Cadet."

Once she was gone, Jean-Luc hung his head and waited for Ross to recover and hopefully give him more information. 

"So John, you know that your mother is hoping that I'll help you get your grades up," Ross continued in a less angry tone. So an apology wasn't going to happen. 

"I appreciate that," Jean-Luc said, playing along. 

"I want you to be at my apartment at eight hundred hours tomorrow morning, with your latest assignments, your current grades, and your uniform in perfect shape."

"Yes, sir," Jean-Luc snapped.

Ross eyed him and then lumbered off -- the swagger of someone who outranked the cadet by four pips. He vanished down the hall opposite the one from which Deanna had emerged. Jean-Luc watched him go, and sat down again.

Bare feet on the bare floor surprised him. Deanna was back, hugging the robe to herself, and she wandered over and perched on the couch cushion next to him. "Your uncle is pretty hard on you," she said.

He shrugged, and smiled at her sheepishly. 

"I wish there was some balance in the world," she said, shaking her head. "Something that makes guys like Caleb get the dressing-down, and guys who walk the debilitated party girls home get a pat on the back." She gave him a weak smile. "I'll go get ready and we can go get something to eat, after I see a doctor about the headache. Are you still up for helping me with basic warp physics?"

"Sure," he said.

She got up and wobbled slightly on her way back to her room. Still not quite herself, but she seemed a little more alert than before, at least.

Jean-Luc took a deep breath and tried not to wince, thinking about all the party girls from his Academy days, that he couldn't remember any more. The girls his mother didn't know about. The ones Maman would have forced him to find and apologize to, if she had only known....

 

* * *

 

 Yvette took the tea service back to the kitchen and left them looking at each other across the table. Deanna smiled, and looked down at her hands. The wedding ring wasn't there, she realized. 

"Are you an officer?" Jean-Luc asked.

Deanna contemplated how to answer. Her name was fairly generic, but this could lead to trouble. "I want to be. Your mother said that you are at the Academy?"

He had such an easy grin at this age. Quick to laugh, too. "I have to go back this afternoon. I was wondering if you would go with me." That little hint of excitement, that she might, made an invitation that she knew didn't mean he wanted to help her with her coursework.

"I'm on vacation this semester."

"Ah," he said, raising an eyebrow. "So are you debating whether to continue and graduate?"

"No. It doesn't harm my career to take the time, and I want to do well in my last semester. So I'm exploring a little, before I graduate and go exploring a lot."

He smirked as if that was a mistake she was making. "Okay."

"Well, why are you joining Starfleet, if not to explore?"

It made him think a little, and after a minute he shook his head. "There are a lot of reasons to join. I do expect to explore the galaxy."

"I suppose it would also be more exciting than staying at home." She thought about her own exodus, and wished she had been able to navigate it without as much anger. She looked around the room, at the cabinet full of fine china and the pictures on the wall. "This is certainly very different than my home. All these old things -- this part of Earth is so full of history, it's fascinating to me."

He snorted. "Maman will be happy to show you. I'm sure you could sit for days with my father and learn all you never wanted to know about France."

Deanna wondered if he'd argued recently with his father. There was so much anger beneath the statement, and derision in his tone. But she smiled as Yvette re-entered the room. "May I use the bathroom, Yvette?"

"Oh, of course. There's one just down the hall."

Yvette sat down with her son as Deanna left the room. At the far end of the hall she found the room, stopped in briefly, and as she explored farther along, she came to a back door. She stepped outside and looked around. The back yard in Yvette's time was beautiful -- flowering vines along the back fence, in the branches of oak trees, and planters set around a pavement with a table and chairs. The air was heavy with the smell of honeysuckle.

Deanna smiled in delight and watched a hummingbird fly by to hover in front of a trumpet-shaped orange flower dangling from a vine on an oak branch. "So lovely," she breathed, wandering a little through the yard. At the back gate she contemplated making a run for it. The path appeared to go left, and she could see another branch in it beyond the fence, that appeared to head back toward the front of the house and the road. Farther down she could see the roof of the winery.

"Well, hello," someone said. "And who might you be?" She'd sensed someone near, so it didn't surprise her. A man had come up from the right, up a slight hill from some outbuildings. He had a large tool in one hand. 

"Hello. I was just having tea with Madame Picard."

A smile, that reminded her of Jean-Luc -- there were some similarities. "Maman didn't say she had company coming today, forgive me. Robert Picard," he said, coming forward with a hand extended. Instead of shaking as she expected he raised her hand to kiss her fingers.

"Deanna Blackwell," she said, using a name she'd decided upon while chatting over tea about France and wine. Her father's family were from Great Britain, but her father's name had been MacMillan; Blackwell was a maiden name of a great-great grandmother who'd married into the MacMillan family. "A pleasure to meet you."

"I have to take this down to the press room. My father is waiting for it," he said. "But I would like to come back to talk to you?"

"Of course," she said automatically. She watched him continue down the path toward the other buildings that she knew from Jean-Luc's holodeck program were the winery proper.

"There you are," Yvette called out from the back door.

Deanna turned. She'd failed to leave, so she smiled and let herself be drawn back into the house. "I'm sorry, I got caught up -- this is such a lovely place. And I met your other son."

Yvette's smile was a little forced, and she felt a melange of emotions that Deanna would expect, from a mother whose sons and husband were at odds with one another on an ongoing basis. "Robert, yes. He's such a hard-working young man. Both of my boys are." She stepped down and crossed the yard to meet Deanna as she approached. Took Deanna's hand. "I don't mean to be too forward, _chére._ Are you in love with Jean-Luc?"

Deanna supposed that she might have shown it in her face, and Maman was clearly as observant as the older Jean-Luc. "I have feelings that I intend to do nothing about. I already did too much, my feelings led me to foolishly appearing on your doorstep -- I've taken entirely too much of your time, I should go and not disrupt your life any further."

Yvette's dismay was startling. She took Deanna's hands and said, " _Non_ , you can stay, I so appreciate your company  _ma chére._ And you should meet Robert." The canny little smile the older woman had was informative.

"But -- " Deanna found herself caught up in Yvette's arm, being swept toward the house, and of course the proud mother of two exceptional young men would have this in common with Lwaxana. 

Of course, Q was entirely absent, and unavailable for swearing at.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Deanna came out of the Academy Medical Clinic bright-eyed and smiling. She'd put on the uniform of a third year cadet, solid red from head to toe with a cream-colored undershirt, and walked wincingly from the dorm to the clinic. It had taken half an hour for this complete transformation. Jean-Luc smiled at the confident stride and improved posture she had, as she came out to where he waited on a bench outside.

"You could have waited inside," she said.

"I don't like hospitals." He also wanted to avoid talking to anyone, in his altered state.

"I guess I can see that you wouldn't after that last big fall," she commented, waving her hand vaguely at his legs. "Off to the cafe, then? I could use a meal."

"How was the party?" he asked, as they strolled off down the walk. 

She made a face. "It was shut down three hours after it started. I ended up in someone's apartment. He handed me a drink, and there was music, so I stayed."

"Hm." That didn't sound like the Deanna he knew. He'd expected names, perhaps even an amusing story about something that had happened.

In fact... now that he thought about it, he wondered why she hadn't sensed a change in this John character. It started to lead to musing about Q's abilities -- he hadn't thought that Q did anything to anyone directly. Changing their appearance temporarily, granting Riker Q-like powers, but there had been to his knowledge no changes in people themselves. Which led him to wonder if this were a complete sham. Deanna had yet to react to anything he felt. Not even a confused look. If he was supposed to be some cadet named John, whom she knew, surely she would be able to tell who he was? She was not currently drunk, or exhausted, and yet there had been no reaction to him.

They crossed the courtyard between the language arts building and the biology building, probably heading for a cafe he remembered being on that side of the campus just outside Academy boundaries. A door opened on the west side of the biology building and cadets poured out -- the end of a period. Deanna frowned, but kept walking, ignoring the sudden increase in pedestrians, and so did he.

"Hey! Hey, Dee!" a woman shouted. Then the woman ran up behind them and grabbed her arm. "Where were you? Everything ok?"

Deanna turned. She had what Jean-Luc thought was a fake smile, though it was a good one. "I'm fine, just got out of the clinic. Had a bad headache this morning."

"He gave us another project," the other cadet said, shrugging. She was an appealing woman, dark-skinned and wearing her hair cut very short against her scalp. She smiled briefly at Jean-Luc but he was clearly just part of the scenery. 

"I'm sure it's already in my inbox, with the notice that I skipped class again," Deanna said.

"If you don't want to do the work, do us a favor and drop," the cadet said without rancor. "He's not going to assign another person to our group unless you drop or get kicked out, and we need a good grade on this next one."

Deanna nodded. "I'll get right on that," she said flatly.

The woman turned warm, dark brown eyes on him. "I don't know why you spend time with her," she said, a fleeting smile crossing her lips as she turned away.

Jean-Luc stared at the cadet's back as she hurried away toward the biology building. When he turned to Deanna, he found she was staring at him.

"That's actually a pretty good question," she said.

"I have a better one."

That startled her. She smiled, raising her head slightly. "Oh?"

"Why you are deciding to self-destruct, instead of starting to work through things."

Her lips thinned in disapproval, and she glared angrily. "Whatever you think you know about me, you're wrong."

"I am?"

She rolled her eyes dramatically, tossed her head, and started walking away from him. He didn't let her get far -- caught up to her and walked with her again. Her walk became a walking run, as she hurried along and veered away from him, but he pursued and kept up until she stopped dodging other hurrying cadets and spun about. 

"Stop it!"

He backed up a little, and now everyone was giving the two of them a wide berth. One male cadet laughed, as he swerved around them, turning to a companion and commenting about 'that depressed girl.'

"Apparently I'm the last one who cares," he said.

Her expression morphed into a strange combination of anger, pain and sadness, as tears started to glitter in her eyes. She stood there looking at the ground until the sidewalk was empty again, all the cadets gone inside. Then there was one person walking in the distance, coming toward them, and Jean-Luc thought that it must be one of the fourth years assigned to patrol the grounds to discourage cutting classes. 

"We should go," he said. 

She looked just as angry as before, but started down the sidewalk with him. When they turned the corner to the far side of the language arts building, he left the sidewalk and climbed the grassy hill away from it. He glanced back to see she was following him. They reached a spot in the trees from which there was no view of the sidewalk or the entrance to the building.

Deanna looked around, looked at him as he dropped to sit cross-legged in the grass, and narrowed her eyes. He didn't waver under her scrutiny. Patted the grass, as if encouraging her to sit. This was, and still remained, a spot on the grounds that few people managed to find; there were no windows on the west side of the building, and trees and shrubbery obscured anyone seated in this little clearing. He was surprised that it was still there.

She sat down, letting her legs fold beneath her. 

It was a long wait. She leaned forward and seemed to be meditating or crying, her elbows on her calves and her face in her hands. 

"Why do you care?" she asked, ending the silence.

"Why does anyone need a reason to care?"

She sat up, laughing bitterly, and wiped at her face angrily -- she was indeed crying. "Why didn't you care this way yesterday? or last week?"

That was perhaps the verification that she sensed but was not responding to emotions. "I don't know."

She laughed again, putting a hand to her forehead. "I don't know what to think."

He said nothing. There was a slightly-hysterical note in her voice that concerned him.

"You've been following me around for three weeks," she said, with more ire than he was accustomed to hearing from her. "All I did was help you, when you were hurt on a group survival exercise. Anyone would have done that. But you keep following me around. The only class we have in common is the stupid survival exercises, how to live through the various biomes that an officer on an away mission might encounter, and the only time we interacted during that course was when you got hurt. But somehow you manage to see me between classes. And then today, you show up right there, just off the campus as I wander back to the dorm with a hangover, just in time to rescue me. Why does the nephew of Captain Ross who can fuck around and do nothing and still pass want anything to do with me?"

It took him a moment to come up with an answer. But at least she'd given him more pieces to the larger puzzle. "I can't do nothing," he said. "Not forever anyway. Maybe I can't do enough to fix anything for you. But I can tell you're having a tough time, so why not do whatever I can to help?"

She kept glaring at the grass in front of her, and he waited for it to catch on fire. But the anger started to waver, and her expression went to angst. 

"You're a stupid little jerk," she blurted.

"Yes," he said, thinking about when he had been exactly that. "Maybe I am. But so are a lot of us here. If we were perfect why would they bother trying to teach us anything?"

Deanna threw herself back in the grass, looking up at the sky. He joined her, staring up at some clouds. Waiting for something else to happen.

 

* * *

 

 

"I wondered where you went," Jean-Luc said, as she came into the front room with Yvette holding a handful of flowers from the back yard. He had changed into a cadet's uniform, a very different one than the uniform she'd worn at the Academy. He'd been sitting in one of the chairs near the fireplace, and stood up as they came in the room. 

"I love flowers," she said. Yvette had stopped on the back step and picked a few of the roses, giving four of them to Deanna. She had been too sly about it, suggesting she had a reason for doing it. 

"Perfect," Yvette said, picking up an empty crystal vase that sat on one of the small round tables. "It needs water." She took the bunch of roses she'd picked and the vase with her as she marched off to the kitchen. 

Jean-Luc was eyeing the roses in Deanna's hand.

"I'm guessing that your mother is trying to convince me to get to know one of her sons well enough that she can keep me," Deanna said.

His eyes flicked up to her face from the flowers. "She does like you," he said. "But I doubt that either Robert or I would be interested in anything long-term."

He couldn't even say the word marriage. "Nor am I," she commented, thinking in terms of the circumstance she was in, and the husband she knew she would see again soon. 

Unfortunately, the younger version of her husband took that the wrong way entirely. He was smiling at her when she glanced up again, upon sensing a renewed interest. 

"I've never seen roses this shade," she said, deflecting with as innocuous a tone as she could manage. Two were a deep burgundy, two were blue. 

"The language of the flowers," he said. "Burgundy represents unconscious beauty. Blue would be mystery and intrigue. And Maman as usual knows all."

Maman was also taking longer to put water in a vase than was necessary. Deanna could tell she was keeping herself away with some anticipation. Well, Maman could live with disappointment; she certainly had done so before. 

"Not everything, I think. She doesn't know that it's just a matter of bad timing."

"Timing?"

Deanna smiled at him, thinking of her husband offering to "help" her in the shower. "I'm sure that some day I'll consider you -- if all goes well enough. You might be interesting enough in a few decades, after you've been adequately trained. As for Robert... he is less interesting to me. So I'll say good-bye for now."

She turned and left him there, staring at her. Once in the hall she turned and went out the front door with her four roses. Q was standing in front of the house, dressed like a stereotypical farmer, wearing a straw hat and with a long stalk of grass dangling from his mouth.

"I thought I sensed you here. Can I go back to where I belong now? I want my wedding ring back."

"We have one more stop to make," he said, raising his hand.

She closed her eyes before he snapped his fingers, in hopes of not landing on her knees in the middle of the new destination. When she opened them, she was exactly where she'd been, still holding the flowers. Wearing a uniform -- not her vintage, however. She wasn't sure when she was, but the planters in front of the house were no longer full of blooming things, and it was closer to dusk. 

Q was still there, but strangely silent.

"What am I supposed to do now? Is this a different time?"

He looked up at the house, looked back at her, and vanished in a flash of light. 

Confused, Deanna turned to go to the front door. She touched the button on the door frame, and heard a chime somewhere inside. After a few minutes the door swung open. She had sensed Yvette, but hadn't expected her to be this old. Her hair was still carefully brushed and pinned up, but white; her face had more wrinkles and there was a sadness that lingered about her. Until she recognized Deanna, then she smiled. 

"Deanna. How nice to see you again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are blue roses already, and other colors including green. The meanings may be assigned by florists trying to sell genetically modded roses, but they are there nonetheless....


	5. Chapter 5

"Who are you?"

Jean-Luc smiled at the question, keeping his eyes closed. He'd been expecting it. They were still flat on their backs on the grass; a while ago they had listened to another round of the hundreds of students moving from class to class.

"You aren't surprised when you should be surprised. You aren't anxious any more. You were one of the most anxious cadets I've ever met, to the point that you couldn't talk to me, and then you walk up and rescue me. I call you a jerk and you smile. I tell you these things, and you're smiling again, and not even wondering how I'm coming to these conclusions."

"You're Betazoid."

"John," she exclaimed, scolding. "If you understand enough to know a Betazoid can sense many things about you, you also understand that we don't invade the privacy of others."

"True."

"So who are you and why do you look like John Harkness?"

He sighed. "Tell me rest of the story."

A pause. "What?"

"I broke my leg in the survival exercise," he said, remembering what Deanna had told him when Caleb came aboard after his vessel, the  _Valiant_ , had been disabled. "You were nearly overwhelmed by my pain. But you weren't overwhelmed."

Another lengthy pause. He heard her inhale. "There is no way John Harkness would know that, since he passed out after the jagged edges of bone pierced his skin."

"You failed the test because you called for medical teams against Caleb's wishes and everyone was given another chance at it because they do not penalize teams when there is an accidental injury. Caleb told you that you were weak, couldn't take the pain, and that was why you signaled for help. You did it because it was the decent thing to do for an injured classmate. You could have done what you needed to do in spite of the pain, because you did it. You saw what needed to be done. You did it." This was his assessment, based on what Deanna had told him before, and what this younger version of her had said earlier. 

" _Who are you_?"

He sat up, then stood up from the ground, ignoring the urge to brush off his pants. "Someone who knows you will get over Will Riker and move on to better things. Get off your ass, Deanna. You're so much better than this."

Jean-Luc moved on, marched up the hill and pushed through some shrubbery, ignoring her calling for him. He found another sidewalk and turned down it, toward the astrometrics building. 

Once again, most people were in class. He saw someone ahead at the next junction, and as he drew closer he saw that it was Q. He stopped in front of the man in the admiral's uniform.

"Please," he said softly. He couldn't stay with her any longer. Not knowing how broken she was, and why.

"You could go -- "

"Q, please end this."

Q tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. For a moment, Jean-Luc thought he would be whisked away to be subjected to watching more of Deanna's past. He didn't have it in him to survive more of it -- fortunately, though, Q seemed to recognize that. Q raised his hand, snapped his fingers, and the Academy all vanished in a bright flash.

Jean-Luc opened his eyes and found himself flat on his back again, looking up into the surprised face of Dr. Mengis.

He started to laugh. Tried to sit up, looked for her, but the doctor pushed him back down. 

"She's fine, Captain. They're all fine. Let me run one more scan."

 

* * *

 

"I know it's been a long time," Deanna said, when they were finally seated in the parlor with cups of tea. She'd gone to replicate it. Yvette seemed so frail that she'd volunteered to make the tea, and found a replicator installed -- it had to be a reflection of Yvette's condition. The old woman was moving so slowly. It hurt Deanna's heart to see her this way, after just visiting the younger Yvette.

"You are successful in Starfleet as well," Yvette said. "How is Jean-Luc? He doesn't mention you at all in any of his messages."

Deanna took stock of Yvette's emotional landscape before responding. She had sensed this before, and it almost brought her to tears. Yvette was so, so tired, and it felt as though she was fading away. Deanna put her tea cup on the side table next to the four roses, and folded her hands in her lap.

"When was the last time you saw him?"

Yvette's smile lacked the sparkle of her younger years. "Oh, no, he hasn't been home in years. He says he will, some day. Are you on the same ship together?" Then her smile started to blossom. "Is he coming here with you?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Deanna said sadly. She knew, because Jean-Luc had told her, that he had been caught up in some conflict when Yvette died quietly at home, and he had not made it back for the funeral. One of his regrets. Deanna reached over to take Yvette's hand. "Where is Robert?"

"He has a date, with a lovely young woman. She comes to sit with me sometimes. Marie, I think -- my memory isn't what it was." Yvette smiled down at their hands. "You have a ring!"

And so she did. The wedding ring had returned. Deanna smiled, and took it as encouragement. "I do. Jean-Luc gave it to me."

"Oh," she whispered, putting her other hand over Deanna's. "Then you are also Madame Picard."

"Yvette," Deanna began tentatively. "There's something I want to tell you. I'm from the future, from a later time, and I met Jean-Luc long after he becomes a starship captain. When I came to see you before, I traveled back in time, and this is the second time I did that. And so your son, right now wherever he is, doesn't know I'm here. But I think you should know that he does get married, and we will have children. He treasures all the letters you sent him and he follows your advice."

Yvette was crying as she spoke, but her eyes were alight with joy. Her hands started to shake and she fumbled at the pocket of the robe she wore. She took out a lace handkerchief and ineffectually dabbed at her eyes. "I don't want to say that I gave up hope... but he is so determined, so adamant, that he can't possibly marry while he is an officer. He is so afraid."

"He will change," Deanna said softly. "He will be much different later. Less afraid."

"I wish he had come with you," she said, taking the handkerchief in both hands. "What I wouldn't give to see my boy again."

"I know he would give anything to be here. He loves you so much." Deanna moved from the chair to sit with Yvette on the couch, and put her arms around her. "I'm so sorry I couldn't bring him with me."

 She held Yvette for a bit, rocking slightly with her, and comforted her. 

"Jean-Luc would mention other girls at times," she said, as she leaned against Deanna's shoulder. "But I always hoped. I'm so happy he found his way back to you."

Deanna almost corrected her, was a little surprised that Yvette had already forgotten -- but the revelation about time travel had obviously not overridden the many years of believing that Deanna was his contemporary. She smiled, crying a little. "We're naming our first child after you."

"You have a child! Oh!" Yvette was so happy that she trembled and cried, laughing as she did so. She quieted and seemed to drift off in thought. Deanna held her and then she felt the dwindling spark in her go out. 

Deanna gently moved Yvette back against the couch, and touched her eyelids gently to close them. She kissed the wrinkled cheek -- Yvette's skin was so papery and soft, and still. 

While she sat weeping silently, she sensed that Q returned, but didn't come into the room. Deanna dried her eyes, picked up her roses, and went out to the porch.

"Well," she said. "What are you expecting me to say?"

Q wore the farmer costume, but without the straw in the mouth. He took off the straw hat. "You could thank me."

"Oh, certainly," she blurted. "Thank you, for pulling me away from my life, to insert me into someone else's abruptly and then just as suddenly pull me out of it."

Q smiled cannily. "And how do you know that any of this was really about you? Silly girl."

Before she could respond, he snapped his fingers. She awakened on a bed in sickbay, almost falling off in her disorientation. Nurse Sands was there to steady her, reassure her, and she lay back as requested, noticing that Jean-Luc was nearby, unconscious on a bed. She closed her eyes and let the nurse run a diagnostic.

She heard him wake up laughing, a short time later. She heard the doctor reassure him, and then he came to her. "Deanna, you can go -- get a good night's sleep."

"Thank you," she said, sitting up. She was still in her uniform, so nothing extensive had been needed, obviously.

Jean-Luc waited for her near the door, watched her come to him with the subdued smile he usually wore when all was well. "Security handled the situation, as we expected. Data negotiated a cease fire. We're going back down tomorrow to try again."

"I would like to request that Data take my place on the away team," she said. 

It puzzled him, but he turned to go. "We can talk about it in the briefing tomorrow morning."

Deanna followed him to their quarters, and surprised him by not saying anything. She took a bath, instead. Trying not to think about everything was difficult; sensing the death of any person had always been troubling for her, though in Yvette's case it was an easy and painless experience. She'd obviously been ready to go. 

While she lay with closed eyes in the hot water, she heard him come in. "Cygne?"

"I can't talk about it right now. I'm sorry." She looked up at him; he was concerned, but he nodded and left her there to soak.

She eventually felt somewhat at ease, and dried herself then went to the bedroom. She put on one of his shirts and came to bed. He was lying there in near-darkness, some of the star's light coming in the viewport. He must have asked the computer to dim it down, it was a fairly bright star. When she slipped between the sheets, he reached out and wrapped an arm around her as she settled in next to him. 

"You were laughing in sickbay," she said.

"Relief. It was a difficult experience."

Deanna could tell; he was angry, frustrated, tired, all the things she was, but without the grief. "We can talk about it after the mission."

"Yes."

 


	6. Chapter 6

The mission ended peacefully enough, after two days of negotiating the treaty -- no one was entirely satisfied, but an end to fifty years of war had been reached, and both species were now amenable to an agreement with the Federation after receiving the help with their local difficulties. Jean-Luc turned over the bridge to Data after the ship was under way at warp five to the closest starbase.

Deanna had taken time off, instead of returning to a regular counseling schedule as he'd expected. When he arrived in their quarters, she was making tea. Not just replicating it -- she had a full tea service out, an ornate silver set that he had not seen before.

"Would you care for some?" she asked as he came over to sit with her. He could smell the verbena.

"My mother used to make -- " He stopped talking when she flinched. "Deanna?"

"Q didn't send me to the Academy," she said, as she handed him a steaming cup.

"I know," he said softly. "I remembered."

She smiled sadly. It was strange that she would be sad. He remembered her as being flirtatious and happy. "You were such a handsome young man. It's nice that some things don't change."

"Well. It's nice to know you think I'm young," he said, trying to amuse.

"Silly fish. You know better." Holding the tea in her left hand, she reached up to tickle the back of his neck. "You were of course right about you and your brother, to your mother's dismay. I think she really wanted grandchildren to play with."

"She did, and she told Robert as much when he started dating Marie, apparently. He told me the last time I was there that as she aged she started to wander a bit mentally. Apparently she mentioned you a few times."

Deanna sipped the _verveine_ and reached for the sugar bowl. "She was lovely. We danced. She sang for me. She was so, so proud of you."

He noticed the tremble of her lip, and began to understand her mood over the past days since their return. "She told me often. Robert was furious that I missed her funeral, and I was devastated when the mission I was on ended and I found out she'd died, too late to go."

"You didn't remember me, before. I wonder if Q actually changed things," she said.

"No, I remembered that there was a woman named Deanna that came to the house. It was so long ago that I didn't remember exactly what she looked like. And I certainly would never have believed that it was the same woman who came aboard the 1701-D as my counselor, who was clearly too young to have been in France when I was seventeen." He sipped the tea, letting it remind him as it always did of home, and all the memories that went with it. "Mother was so taken with you that she asked after you until I told her you and I had lost touch with each other."

Deanna looked so sad that it cut short his ramble through the past. "Q sent me to a different time, to see her again," she said at last.

"Oh?"

She met his gaze, her eyes swimming in tears. "She was so frail and a little confused. But she recognized me. I told her the truth, that I was from the future and we were married, and we were planning to have children. It made her -- so -- happy," she said, trying to speak and breathe while trying not to sob. "She was so happy knowing you would have children. And then she died in my arms."

There was nothing he could say about it. Nothing to do but put down the tea and hold her in his arms, and cry with her. It became clear that she had been more distant the past few days because she was mourning; he could feel her sadness in waves, and shared it. After a time she seemed to have cried it out, and lay in his arms as he leaned back against the couch and rubbed her back.

"I told her we would name our first child after her," she mumbled.

"Then I suppose we must do so. It wouldn't do, breaking a promise to Maman." It was a good idea, he thought.

Deanna made an indistinct noise, and uncurled -- sat up, moved away slightly to reach for the tea again. She added a little more to her cup. "When I was there the first time she said that you hadn't seen your father since you left for the Academy, but he was there while you were in the house."

"My father loved her, and there were always things to do in the winery," he said. Unfastening the jacket, he took it off and tossed it across the arm of the couch. "He and Robert were usually quite intentionally working on something while I visited with Maman."

"She showed me her cabinet full of pretty things, and gave me roses. I wish I still had the roses. You rarely see blue roses."

"It was never a natural color. Genetic modifications made the unnatural colors possible. But she loved all roses." He frowned. "You haven't asked about my experience."

"Do you want to talk about it? I'm getting a scone, would you like anything?" She got up and crossed the room.

"The same, if you would. I was taken to the Academy, for a day. I saw you as a cadet. You were... not happy. I believe it was not long after the incident you described, when Caleb Hendricks was a problem."

She brought a plate with two warm scones. Her expression gave away nothing. "That was a particularly difficult month."

"I was useless," he confessed.

"I refused help for two months. I lost a number of good friends that way. There were a few nights that I lay awake wanting nothing more than to run away from everyone and everything that I knew." Deanna's anger pinched her brow. But she spread butter on the scone and nibbled. "I don't remember you."

"Do you remember John Harkness?"

She turned troubled eyes on him, holding the scone in midair over the plate. "John.... Really?"

"You said he was following you around. I stepped in when you were being followed by some man you wanted nothing to do with. You were nothing like the counselor I knew, or the woman you are now."

She was wincing and shaking her head. "You are absolutely correct. I've changed a lot since then. I don't remember much about that day.... We were sitting in a grove of trees, behind the biology building?"

"Yes." He sighed, knowing she sensed his reaction to the memory.

"You informed me point blank that I would get over Will Riker. And despite my rage at you for daring to mention his name, I eventually did, for the most part."

"I feel like apologizing -- I lost my temper. But it was difficult for me to just be there, watching you being dismissive and apathetic. Angry at everyone. It reminded me that I didn't treat women very well, when I was that age, and that it's very likely some of them were as angry at me as you were at Caleb, and Will. You were confusing the hell out of me, as well. Half the time you were talking to me as if you knew me, but then you said that John had been stalking you -- that made no sense to me."

Deanna tucked the last bite of scone in her mouth and seemed lost in thought while she chewed and swallowed. "He wasn't stalking me. He started to walk with me between classes, which was strange because we didn't have any in common. I think he was on the outs with Caleb, after what happened. He was the loneliest kid on campus. I felt sorry for him, let him sit with me at dinner, and he helped me with warp physics. When I finally concluded you were not him, after thinking that there was something off about you after I sobered up so I could sense emotions again, I hesitated to really confront you until I was positive you were not him, because I didn't want to hurt him. There wasn't anything really objectionable about John other than his insecurity. He knew he didn't belong at the Academy. After you were gone, he didn't remember what happened that day, got in trouble for missing the meeting with his uncle the next morning, and finally quit a week later. I hope wherever he is that he's happier now."

"As do I. I dislike that Q chose to insert me into his life that way, but Q never asks."

Deanna smirked as she smoothed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear. She was wearing it down, and as she hadn't left their quarters that day, she'd opted to wear a loose off-white dress very similar to the one she'd worn for their wedding. "I think it did him some good, actually. He seemed more confident afterward. Ross came through the dorm the following day -- I was working on that project for the anthropology class that Nora wanted me to drop, and John was studying for a test. When Ross tried to bully him, instead of cowering John actually told him he was thinking about quitting Starfleet. He wasn't much of a talker, before then. I think his mother was more demanding than encouraging."

"You're saying that I rubbed off on him?"

"Essentially." She eyed him speculatively. "Are you off duty? It's still early in the day."

"We are under way to a starbase. I was not needed and reports have been filed. And, I was concerned and wanting to be here, when you wanted to start talking about whatever you were suffering through."

Deanna finally smiled at him with the affection and happiness that was more their normal. "Thank you, Jean-Luc."

"I have a holographic hideaway chosen, if you would care to join me, Madame?"

She fairly glowed at him, and he could feel the telltale tingle of the bond along his spine. "Will you teach me the song your mother used to sing? Something about a moon, and someone named Pierrot?"

"Ah... well. Perhaps there is a holodeck program. It was a fairly well known song."

She put her arm through his, walking down the corridor away from their quarters. In the lift she seemed to be thinking of something that made her very happy indeed.

"I was just imagining how much fun she would have had at our wedding," she said, as the door opened and they strolled out. The Deck Ten Racquetball Club was jogging by as they approached the holodeck, issuing a string of greetings as they passed. He acknowledged them with a nod and stopped at holodeck four, which was reserved by him.

"I actually thought of her, when we were waiting for you to come down the aisle. I was thinking how much she would have liked you. It's good to hear that it was true -- as painful as it was, I'm also happy that you were there for her," he said, turning to the panel at the door. "Computer, load program Picard 44."

"Did you dance with her, when you were younger?"

"She made a point of teaching us to dance." He put an arm around her as they strolled into the program -- the glass beaches of Ristonar IV. "And she wanted me to learn piano, but acceded to the fact that I was miserable at it."

It was a good sign, he thought, that she wanted to talk about Maman. So he answered questions and enjoyed the walk with his wife, until she had no more and they were silent. As they reached the end of their hour, he smiled.

"Jean-Luc?"

"I did learn something from seeing you as you were at the Academy."

"I'm afraid to ask," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Well -- I'm assuming that the children will all be empaths, at some point? Perhaps this preview will allow me to -- what?"

"Aren't you forgetting a few things? I'm not my mother, and you know that between the two of us, we will certainly manage to teach our children mood regulation skills."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I am forgetting the therapist factor."

She sighed audibly. "Or you are deliberately poking at me to provoke. I was not a moody teenager in my twenties. I was an overwhelmed empath with a doctorate and a pessimistic attitude."

"You looked younger to me."

"So did you -- John was seventeen."

He stopped walking, his boots sinking a little in the shards of glittering blue glass that made up the beach. "What?"

"Remember Wesley at fifteen? John was like that at seventeen. A little thinner, with uncombed hair, lots of freckles, and pale blue eyes. He kept tripping over his own feet, easily startled, blushed when anyone looked at him -- which should have been another clue to me that you weren't him -- you were far too self assured."

"No wonder you had no interest in him."

"I had no real interest in anyone at that point." She looked up at the glass cliff above them, at the water gently lapping the shore. "You had a very shallow sort of interest at seventeen, I think. But you were honest about it, and I doubt you would have done what that man did, when he was trying to get me to stay with him in his apartment."

That was an open door for the question he'd wanted to ask, but hesitated to -- and he hesitated again, because he wasn't sure he really wanted to know.

"He stole my shoes," she said. "Grabbed me and tore my dress. Once I was outside he kept trying to sweet-talk me, especially if there were any people within earshot."

That made him angry. "I didn't realize he was the one who tore your dress."

"And I was struggling to stay upright, let alone tell you about that."

"Arch," he said. The program obeyed, and the arch appeared. He turned and found her smiling, unexpectedly. "Cygne?"

"I was just realizing that we have something in common," Deanna said. "My mother has always called me Little One. Your mother referred to you as handsome little one."

He spent a moment being mildly perturbed. "We should keep that to ourselves. No need for your mother to have any encouragement."

"All right," she said amiably, taking his arm again. They left the holodeck and headed for the lift at a leisurely pace. "Sweet fish."

They didn't speak again until they entered their quarters. As he was about to ask what she wanted for dinner, she cried out and hurried forward. On the table there was a tall vase full of roses -- red ones, and many of them. But she picked up a small bundle that lay on the table in front of it. Two blue, two burgundy.

"Well," he said, inviting an explanation.

"You don't remember that she gave me these roses?" Deanna asked, holding up the four. "If it wasn't you then it had to be Q who left these here."

"I did have Data bring these in while we were gone," he said, gesturing at the large bouquet. "But I didn't leave those."

Deanna smiled sadly at the little bundle, and after a moment of thought she went to the replicator and returned with a smaller vase, putting them in it. After leaving it with the other bouquet, she came to him and they embraced.

"Thank you. I love you, Jean-Luc." She stepped back again, and held his hands, looking into his eyes. Then rolled her eyes. "And thank you, Q, for bringing me my blue roses."

"You're welcome," Q's disembodied voice said. "Jean-Luc's present is in the bedroom."

"Present?" Jean-Luc said with a scowl. "What could he possibly think I would want?"

Deanna jogged in, and returned with something -- she held it up and shook out the red dress. "I think Q likes you, Jean."

"Oh...."


End file.
